Dark Things

by Novica Tadić, Charles Simic (Translator)

Novica Tadic is Serbia’s leading poet and the linguistic heir to Vasko Popa. With this translation, US Poet Laureate and Pulitzer Prize–winner Charles Simic brings the full range of Tadic’s dark beauty to I dream how on a flat surface
I set down knives of various
shapes and sizes.
Already there are so many of them
I can’t count them,
or see them all. Someone’s being done in
by those knives. Novica Tadic has won most major Serbian literary awards, including the prestigious Laureat Nagrade. Charles Simic ’s latest poetry collection is That Little Something (Harcourt, 2008).

Genres: Poetry

96 pages, Paperback

First published July 1, 2009

About the author

Novica Tadić was a Serbian poet. He was born in a small village in Montenegro and spent most of his life in Belgrade.

Reviews

[Steve · Rating 5 out of 5]

Oh my. I'll try and write some more on this later, but this is a big football weekend, so we'll see. Dark Things starts out pretty grim, but somewhere around page 30, it was like I stepped through a dark gate. I don't think this was due to inattention on my part. Dante would have applauded this guy's imagery. Hellish, surreal. So much so that I found a place for it on my GR horror shelf. Normally that's for genre stuff, but this is Horror that transcends genre, and so dominant that it needs to be flagged (like road flares for a wreck on a highway). One thing I found interesting (and left me hopeful for Tadic's emotional health) was the very brief poem that ended the collection. It's a consolation, and one that is earned. It's placement was perfect. I intend to read some more from this poet.

[Eadweard · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5/5
I feel I should have liked these more.


Coat of Many Colors


I found on the dump
a coat of many colors
and put it on.

I shrieked with happiness
and whirled around
for a long time.

To show myself off
to people and stars in the sky
is my wish now.

And as I walk the streets,
to see my reflection in shop windows
full of miserable novelties
---



Dark Things


Dark things open my eyes,
raise my hand, knot my fingers.

They are close and far away,
in a safe hideaway
beyond nine hills.

Night is their kingdom,
and this day, just breaking,
is their cloak of light.

No force can revoke them,
untangle them,
explain them.

They stay where they are,
in our breasts,
stirring in our hearts.
---


Hatred


An ocean of hatred splashes over me
every day
whether I open a window
or a daily newspaper
a plank is floating on the wave
and on that plank the one drowning
in terror panic and sorrow
All the big fish are extinct
there are no more sharks
only bottom creatures only venomous stars
float around
whirl foam and vanish
---



Something Ripened


Something ripened

Neither to be a home to a worm
nor to be a fruit one could eat

it grew
on a branch
I don’t recognize

in a garden
at the outskirts of town

under several
dark windows

[Nemanja · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tadic's poems are harmoniously composed with a strong tendency towards alliteration, placed in a mystical, murky and menacing atmosphere of incomplete dreams, in which inescapable horror abides. According to Charles Simic, who marvelously translated Tadic into English, his poems resemble the paintings of one Hieronymus Bosch. Tadic is often lost among the faceless crowd, in a cramped, dark space, in nightmares, alone and abandoned. In later collections of poems written at the end of his life, such as “Tu sam u tami”, in which his linguistic talent and imagination still remain strong, Tadic's poems become more concise, clearer and pious.
Selected poems: Amidst The Noise. Again That. Armful of Twigs, Dream. Hatred. Spade.

“Armful of dry twigs
I carry to the fire
through busy streets.

I can’t see the stake,
don’t know who is being
burnt alive or why.

Flames rise and the glow
beyond the ecstatic crowd
singing, shouting and firing guns.

(This dream, I am not
bound to forget.)

Don’t sway like that, O my curtain.”

[Sarah · Rating 3 out of 5]

All in all this was a good collection, but I must admit to disappointment because I didn’t find it as rich or interesting as Tadic's previous collection in English, Night Mail: Selected Poems, also translated by Simic.

In the introduction, Simic says that Tadic’s poems have become “less verbally intricate and more direct and plain-spoken” over the years. In some poets such distillation brings power, but I felt the poems here were duller, and difficult to warm up to. Tadic's topics and themes haven’t changed significantly, but I found the earlier poems stranger and more vivid.

I guess it just boils down to the fact that I thought Night Mail was a masterpiece. The poem series with “The Maker of Faces” was brilliant and menacing. The “fiery hen” that appeared in a number of poems was wild and dangerous. The “indestructible lamb” was fascinating. IS fascinating. I have pretty much convinced myself that it was Tadic’s “Antipsalm” that inspired Olena Kalytiak Davis’s “Six Apologies, Lord,” and set the standard for other poems in the self-hating, self-flagellating vein. Here’ s the beginning of “Antipsalm:”

"Disfigure me, Lord. Take pity on me.
Cover me with bumps. Reward me with boils.
In the source of tears open a spring of pus mixed with blood.
Twist my mouth upsidedown. Give me a hump." (...)

(Partly because of her wonderful ending, Davis’s poem may have been superior, but I don’t have time to go into that now.)

I wouldn’t discourage anyone from reading “Dark Things.” There are plenty of good poems in it. I particularly liked “Whisk Broom 50,” which begins

Whisk broom of fifty pills
befuddled my monstrous brain
now in a padded room
I’m lying down

white crows come offering me
blank years of a blank life
(...)

There are also some ‘dream’ poems, the best of which is “Armful of Twigs, Dream.” In it the speaker is carrying twigs to a funeral pyre. It’s a violent vision of fire and a crowd and ends -

"(This dream, I am not
bound to forget.)

Don’t sway like that, O my curtain."

Yet, another dream poem leaves me completely flat: "Book, Dream." At four lines, it’s the shortest poem in the book, and reads –

"On a low chair, the book
opened by itself.
A gust of air blew –
it was the Lord’s breath."

Unfortunately there were a number of poems in the book that left me flat.

I’m sure if I’d never read "Night Mail" I would have come away more impressed. As it is, if you’re interested in Novica Tadic, there’s no doubt "Night Mail" is the place to start.

[Timothy · Rating 5 out of 5]

My review here:

http://versemag.blogspot.com/2009/11/...

[Scott]

A chance discussion earlier this evening about Vasko Popa & Serbian poetry, especially translations by the great Serbian-American Charles Simic called to mind a favorite poet I have not read in years. Tadic is the legitimate heir of Popa, or I should say was as he passed away several years ago. Dark, surreal, cynical, compact. In the intro to Dark Things Simic speaking of Bosch writes, "We live in a world which resembles one of his canvases." Further in the intro Simic writes, "Tadic is a poet of the dark night of history." From a writer who opened his poem Hatred with lines which are becoming more relevant, "An ocean of hatred splashes over me every day/ whether I open a window or a daily newspaper." I can appreciate inspired verse, but there's a certain amount of refreshing honesty that one finds in a poet like Tadic "Wind lifted the ashes/and spread them/over other ashes"

[Dorothy Mahoney · Rating 5 out of 5]

Novica Tadic's translator, Charles Simic describes the concise poems as Hieronymus Bosch's paintings turned poems. The title is a good indication of what to expect yet there are glimmers of hope in the surrealistic darkness. "Big Mud" ends: "let's praise everything we see/ let's set out for the open waters/ let's turn and lie on our backs forever." There are dreams, and demons, fires and much danger. This poem, "Straitjacket" acts as a warning: "A straitjacket/ is being woven/ and cut to measure/ on you." In the introduction, Simic explains the difficulty of translation. Interesting.

[Benjamin Niespodziany · Rating 4 out of 5]

A great introduction into the work of Novica Tadic (translated by Simic). Heavy simplicities that reminded me of Popa. Looking forward to reading more.

[EIJANDOLUM]

“I’m a cross of human flesh
on which nothingness is crucified.”

[Morbid Swither · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of the most sublime and, without question, most unsettling collections of poetry I have ever read.

[elina · Rating 4 out of 5]

it's hard to rate poetry but the images were mystifying

[Lauren · Rating 5 out of 5]

This man is a genius.